


charting waters

by monarchs



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Aquaphobia, Drama, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Palo Alto AU, Post-Depositions, Rain, Swimming Pools
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-18 13:17:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18700366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monarchs/pseuds/monarchs
Summary: Eduardo's patience wears thin, and he pushes Mark into the pool of the Palo Alto house.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this prompt](https://tsn-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/10450.html?thread=19753938#t19753938), though it doesn't follow it too closely.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is NOT about the real-life Mark and Eduardo (at ALL), only their characters in the movie The Social Network. I don't make money from this.
> 
> Chinese translations by conniepen [here](http://estelleggy.lofter.com/post/1d0eb9ea_1c5cf245f) or [here](http://www.mtslash.me/thread-290159-1-1.html).

Eduardo was a forgiving person. 

 

But even he couldn't say that it didn't tire, didn't hurt, didn't anger him every time he watched cars pass by, each one picking up people that were pointedly not him. And when the minutes piled up and he grew tired in both EST and PST, and the cars were scarce and the rain was soaking his carry-on and the pushy taxi driver with horrible personal hygiene watched him mockingly, waiting for him to give in any second now, his patience wore thin. 

 

Thinner when Sean fucking Parker opened the door to him, a telephone against his cheek, looking innocent, feigning innocuousness, like it was natural for him to be there. Whereas it was completely silly that Eduardo was in California at all, soggy, exhausted, moody. 

"What's up?" Sean had asked. 

 

 

"Mark was supposed to pick me up at the airport an hour ago - I've been calling his cell."

Eduardo pushed past Sean, scanned the room for Mark, but there were so many people who weren't Mark. Faceless interns, wasted girls lounging on the couch. To his left, Dustin wired in, to the front, glass doors looking out at a pool, to his right, an empty hallway.

He watched as the pool collected rainwater, and suddenly recalled the way Mark had said, back at the dorms, that he'd found a house for rent on a street two blocks from Stanford campus. How it was perfect and how it had a pool.

Like Facebook needed a fucking pool.

 

"Wardo," Mark said. He was in a t-shirt, he was coming down the stairs, a Red Vine in his hand, he didn't even look mildly ashamed.

"I waited an hour for you at the airport," Eduardo said.

"What time is it?"

"Midnight. 3AM in New York where I just came from."

"You've got to see the new stuff we've got."

Eduardo shook his head. "Mark, you were supposed to pick me up."

Mark barely glanced at him. "It's called The Wall. You've got to see it, Dustin, show him—"

"Mark," Eduardo reiterated. The syllable came out a little louder, a little more broken than he had intended. Dustin was the only one who looked visibly unsettled, but he didn't say anything. 

"Forget the wall," Sean stepped in. "Tell him about the meeting I set up with Peter Thiel. You know him?" and before Eduardo could answer in the negative, or not answer at all, Sean continued. "No reason you should, he just runs a two-billion-dollar hedge fund called Clarium Capital."

Eduardo didn't bother honoring that with an answer. He turned his attention back at Mark. "Mark. Want to talk to me alone for a minute?"

Sean put his hands up and made a stupid face. "Right. Good talk guys. I totally felt like I was a part of this conversation." He air-quoted the word 'conversation'. Frankly, Eduardo couldn't believe Mark would allow someone like Sean stick around in a two-mile radius from him. Wasn't stupidity contagious?

 

Eduardo wasn't entirely sure why he dragged Mark outdoors for their talk. Maybe it was because he wanted to get away from Sean, maybe it was because the drumming rain could give them some privacy, give them some space, out here, where no one else was.

 

"It's raining," Mark murmured, pulling his arm back from Eduardo's grip.

"An enlightening observation, Mark," Eduardo replied curtly, watching rain twist into Mark's curls, watching his oversized t-shirt turn a darker color.

"Do we have to talk outsi—"

"Yes," Wardo affirmed. Mark flinched, then nodded quietly, pensive.

"Okay," Mark said. "How's it going? How's the internship? How's Christy?" 

"How's the internship?" Eduardo exhaled, mildly incredulous. "We've talked about this over the phone, I told you I quit on my first day— were you even— the _first day_ , Mark." 

The fucking first day, Eduardo thought.

It hurt more than it should, even when Mark replied strategically with, "I do remember you saying that. How's Christy?"

Trust Mark to bring up everything Eduardo didn't want to talk about. Sean Parker, some dull Facebook feature called the wall (really?), an internship he quit on the very first day, and now his crazy girlfriend. "Christy's crazy and I didn't drag you out here so we could talk about how she frightens the hell out of me."

"Well, to be honest, this weather isn't exactly inspiring me to ask what you think should be the relevant conversational topics. I thought maybe the basic greetings would do. Was I supposed to be prompted?" Mark asked, flatly. And like that, the ball was back in Eduardo's court.

Eduardo exhaled so deeply his breath trembled. What had he expected from Mark? He eyed Sean, who was standing guard inside the house, and then said, "I do not want that guy representing himself as part of this company."

Mark blinked, distracted by rainwater, and then replied as dismissively as ever, "This is where it's all happening. If you moved out here, you'd understand."

Eduardo closed his eyes, shivered slightly from the cold and exhaustion. Would Mark be able to tell if he cried in the rain? 

Who was he kidding. He wouldn't even be able to tell if it weren't raining.

"Did you hear what I just said?" he asked wearily. 

"The connections, the energy—"

"Mark," Eduardo pleaded, but Mark went on.

"—everything's moving lightning fast. If you don't come out here, you're going to get left behind."

In the distance, something shattered. Probably a stray thunderbolt. Eduardo frowned deeply. "Wait— What did you just say?" 

"It's moving faster than—"

"Mark." 

"Sean thinks—"

Eduardo didn't want to hear another thing about _Sean_ come out from Mark's mouth. If he wanted Sean's opinion on something, the guy was right fucking there, looking like an idiot standing inside the sliding doors gaping at them like he had absolutely nothing else to do. Oh god, wait, he _had_ nothing else to do.

"Don't start your sentences with Sean," Eduardo said, almost belligerent. "What do you mean, get left behind?"

Mark eyed him for a beat before rephrasing. "We have over 300,000 members, Wardo, we’re in 160 schools including— 5 in Europe."

"I'm the CFO. I'm aware of the numbers. Why wouldn't I be aware of the numbers? I'm not, however, aware of how the CFO is going to get left behind when he's actually been working. Christ. Enlighten me while I'm still asking nicely, Mark."

Mark bristled, but Eduardo wasn't sure whether it was because of the bigger drops of rain or because of what he'd just said.

"In consequence," Mark continued, his voice growing unsteady. "We need more servers than I envisioned. More programmers. And by extension, more money. So—" Mark seemed to have swallowed rain, or a word,"— set up the meeting with Thiel. And a lot of other meetings around town—"

"Who's set up other meetings?" 

"As far as I can tell, I have been banned to speak his name."

Eduardo glared. " _He_ has set up the meetings?"

"… Yes," Mark said. Water trickled down his forehead and he had to close an eye when it streamed into it. 

"And you didn't bother telling me?" 

"You were in New York," Mark stated. 

Eduardo gaped at him. It wasn't the Ice Age, phones existed, hell, Internet existed. And words – yes, _words_. Can't forget those. Can't fucking forget those!

"Where I ride subways 14 hours a day trying to find advertisers!" Eduardo snapped.

Mark gave Eduardo a blank but also mean look. "And how's it going so far?"

Eduardo exhaled, looked away, into the pool, watching the ripples made by the rain. He ran his hand through his hair, his temper so on edge he was almost shaking.

"That—" _Is that the fucking reason why you couldn't be bothered to pick me up at the airport?_ "That doesn't explain why you didn't think I should know that he's set up meetings. It doesn't explain why I'm going to be left behind." 

_Am I not your friend, first and foremost?_

"No, I meant," Mark said, clearly more irritated, though Eduardo couldn't tell if it was with the rain or the conversation, "what have you brought to the table? It's a rhetorical question, Wardo," Mark said, unsympathetically, though he did seem mildly confused about what he was trying to get across.

Eduardo gaped at him for a few seconds before turning away, towards the pool again. He closed his eyes and tried to time out, pressed his fingers against his temples, felt how sore his joints were. Rage and exhaustion rose into his throat like bile, and he tried to swallow it down. But he was seeing red, and he was having trouble breathing.

 

Eduardo was a forgiving person, _by nature_. 

But he had his moments.

 

Mark stepped forward (worried? concerned?) and said, in a much more hushed voice, with a face that was much less rigid: _look, what I'm trying to say, is that if you don’t come out here, you’re going to get left behind. And I want-- I want--I need y—_ \- but it didn't register at all in Eduardo's mind. It really didn't matter anymore.

Eduardo was stuck on _get left behind_ , and it got to him more than it should have.

He could blame it on jetlag, on the roaring summer rain, on the fact that he'd been told about a dozen times now that he was going to be cut out of the picture, by his best friend.

Before he knew what he was doing, Eduardo shoved Mark. Hard.

And Mark slipped. 

 

There was a moment where time slowed down as Mark toppled into the pool. The deep end of the pool.

And then, like a snap back to reality, the rain reverberated. Thunderous, deafening. Almost victorious.

 

 

Eduardo stepped back, adrenaline still coursing under his skin, and he looked away, turned on his heel, laughed bitterly at the situation. "What do you mean, get left behind?" he said, scoffed, to no one in particular now. Maybe to himself.

He waited, a hand to his forehead, a sad smile to his lips.

But when the splashing behind him didn't stop, and when he heard Mark gasp distantly, he turned around, and almost immediately felt the blood leave his face.

He dived into the pool without taking his shoes off.

 

The cold pool water, his soggy clothes, the inexorable rain, the tears on his face, Mark's wet breaths against his shoulder. It was all a little redundant, but maybe that was how much was needed to cool off his anger. 

"I'm so sorry," he said. When they got to the shallow end, and Mark's weight shifted to the tiled floor beneath them, Eduardo couldn't help but repeat, "I'm so, _so_ sorry."

Mark let go of Eduardo in response, wrapping his arms around himself, wading through the pool until he reached the ladder. His eyes were closed, he was visibly trying to even his breath. 

Eduardo said again, this time only a whisper, "I'm so sorry." 

 

 

Would he have been sorry if Mark knew how to swim? It was a question that would haunt him for days. Years.

 

 

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Sean called out, both his arms extended, palms up (a bizarre pose), in utter disbelief. He was outside the sliding doors now, but still a step away from the rain. Dustin came tumbling out with beach towels in his hands, bumping into Sean before clumsily delivering them to Mark and Eduardo.

"Jesus, Wardo," Dustin had murmured, frowning deeply, caught in a dilemma between being judgmental or worried. 

"I was— I wasn't thinking and— I'm sorry. I won't— this won't— I'm sorry. _Shit_ ," Eduardo sounded stupid. He hid his face beneath the towel and followed Mark out of the pool. The rain had simmered to a drizzle, but the air was charged with tension.

 

It only took Eduardo a few steps out of the water before he understood that Mark was going to ignore him. For a while. For a long while.

It took a few more steps for him to also understand, following that realization, that the only comfort Eduardo was going to get that evening was that of the damp cotton towel pressing into his face. Soaking up rain, tears, and his wordless apologies.

 

He didn't stay that night. No one insisted he stayed, though Dustin had looked torn. It didn't really matter to Eduardo though. Mark hadn't insisted. It was enough to make him leave.

The next morning, he froze the bank account. Out of spite? Puerile excuses? Maybe. It didn't really matter either. He liked to think it was because he had stopped trusting Mark.

 

 

Mark didn't call, didn't message him, for a couple of days, maybe a week. Eduardo refrained from reaching out even though he wanted to give in, wanted to send out an email, an apology, trigger a response, any response. But he thought, _the bank account is frozen, Mark would come around, for better or for worse._ So he waited.

 

And Mark did. It came in the form of an impersonal email. Eduardo had opened it and laid it aside, tired, disappointed that it was no different from an automated message. For all he knew, Mark didn't even redact it. For all he knew, Mark was a heartless android.

 

To his surprise, Mark called that evening. Eduardo didn't know he'd missed Mark's voice this much, even if it was as detached as the tone in the email, even if he had absolutely no reason to miss it. 

Mark didn't bother with anything irrelevant to his request, made it clear he didn't want to talk about good old times, let alone bad ones. He only needed his CFO in San Fran to sign documents because Thiel had made an angel investment.

He said he needed Eduardo, and that alone was enough for Eduardo to close his eyes and soothe his frown, forget that he was tired, or that his crazy girlfriend had just broken into his flat and set a scarf on fire on his bed, or that he was in a stalemate with his best friend.

Half a million dollars, he thought idly, and then he thought about that time they were in Kirkland, grinning – like fools – at an algorithm on the window. He smiled sadly.

 

 

He had been so blind—

But he had learnt his lesson.

 

 

Over the years he would sometimes have recurring dreams of waking up on a water mattress with Mark trapped inside it, looking at him solemnly, almost peacefully, telling him, _you were left behind_.

Other times his dreams threw him back to that moment at Palo Alto, details vivid, except he'd never quite know what Mark had said before he pushed him in. Eduardo'd imagine someone hitting the mute button when Mark slipped, and Eduardo'd turn around, his back suddenly against the front of a couch, the setting having changed in the blink of an eye, and he whined and asked for the remote control, only to see his father's stern and disapproving eyes, watching him from above. The television gave off white noise that smelled like rain and chlorine, and it would wake him up. Senses buzzing, heart in his stomach.

 

 

He didn't like pools all that much anymore, nor beaches, bodies of water. Avoided them if he could, but didn't dislike Singapore as much as he thought he would. Maybe because Mark couldn't ever be near these waters. They reflected a backdrop Eduardo couldn't ever imagine Mark in, towers of gold in a foreign land.

 

 

It was two years after the settlement, five summers since the rainy day in Palo Alto, when Eduardo saw Mark again, at Park Hyatt hotel, New York. 

"I specifically requested a room _without_ a bathtub," Mark had said, his voice distinct over the lobby chatter.

Eduardo looked up from his mobile phone screen. He instantly recognized the curly hair. Mark was only a few yards ahead of him, standing awkwardly before a counter he seemed to refuse to lean against, his back to Eduardo.

The receptionist eyed her client, completely mystified. A blond – Chris, it seemed – started explaining something in a hushed voice, and Mark looked away, his profile the same as always, his hands inelegant at his sides.

And then he turned fully, and their eyes connected.

 

 

Nothing had happened. No fireworks, no epiphany. Just a gaze that lasted what felt like a decennium. 

They didn't do anything beyond a nod however, and Eduardo figured Mark didn't tell Chris when they turned away and headed towards the elevators; Chris hadn't turned around to look at him at all.

 

The encounter only truly baffled Eduardo a few nights later. 

He couldn't stop thinking about what he'd heard, couldn't help feeling insecure whenever he stepped into a bathtub, like suddenly he was the one with a bathtub problem. 

He looked at his own reflection in the mirror and it dawned on him. He eyed his bathtub and a frisson seized his spine. 

He knew what it was, he understood. 

Eduardo broke down in his five-star hotel bed, trembling, crying against pillows that smelled and felt unfamiliar, sheets that didn't feel like home.

 

Sometimes when it was rainy and humid, and when he was waiting to be picked up or waiting for a cab, in the dead of night where it was quiet enough for anyone to hear his thoughts, he'd think, courageously, that maybe he had been too angry (too in love) with Mark.

Rain did that to him more often now, so he didn't like it all that much anymore. 

As weeks passed, he developed a habit of checking the weather forecast every thirty minutes or so. On his television, on his phone, in the newspapers, at work, everywhere. When summer came around, he had looked at his phone, reading the monthly forecast, saying, mostly to himself, that he really wanted to just. Fly out for the rest of the summer monsoon. His PA had looked at him uncertainly, and he gave her a sad smile, laughed at himself, and said, _yeah, no, don't worry about me_

 

 

A tropical storm whipped at San Fran the next summer, and Eduardo had to hold his breath when he watched the latest news about it on the television screen, at the bar.

He wondered, idly, if Mark was doing alright, if Mark was also developing an aversion to rain.

 

It was 2013 and he was still thinking about Mark.

 

Dustin had left Facebook before the settlement, establishing another company called Asana. Eduardo came across him on a business trip to Chicago later that same year, and they exchanged emails and talked about the old days, careful not to mention Mark at first, even though everything between them used to almost always be about Mark. 

It was inevitable that they would talk about him eventually or they'd run out of things to say. The minutes stretched and their conversation stilted, and Eduardo thought, _well, there goes_.

Before Dustin left the lobby, his smile faded. He shifted on his feet nervously and told Eduardo, his voice uncharacteristically shaky, "I can't help it. I think you should know. I think— I think it'll help if you know that— don't take this badly— but Mark—you have to know, I'm risking it here and maybe I'd be undoing all the work Chris has done in helping him, but I think you should know that—" Dustin couldn't seem to make up his mind about how he should word it, and stopped at that, pensive, gathering his thoughts.

Eduardo cleared his throat, and Dustin's eyes snapped back at him. "I saw Mark last year. Um, no, the year before."

Dustin's eyes brightened only a bit. "You did? Did you guys talk?"

Eduardo shook his head.

Dustin lowered his, then said, in an uncharacteristically quiet tone. "Chris wasn't there."

Eduardo frowned, a little confused. "Yes, um, he was."

Dustin shook his head lightly. "No, I mean, at Palo Alto. That night."

Eduardo didn't know where Dustin was going with that.

"But I was," Dustin continued. "And— maybe I didn't hear the full conversation you guys were having out there. But I was watching – a-and I was with Mark, afterwards, you know. He—"

Eduardo didn't comment, but it was mostly out of fear Dustin would stop.

"I blame myself, sometimes. Most times," Dustin said, amended. "All the time."

Eduardo put a hand on Dustin's shoulder, though he wasn't sure it was the best form of reassurance. "You had nothing to do with it."

"I could have intervened. It was clear you two weren't in your best minds at the time. You'd just flown in, you were drenched, angry because Mark didn't pick you up. And Mark had been on a thirty-six hour coding tear and he was still in his almost-carpal-tunnel and Sean-is-god phase. And yeah, maybe I was never part of the equation, but Wardo: what if I had stopped him from making you sign those papers?"

Eduardo hadn't been called Wardo in so long. He wondered what it would feel like if he could hear Mark say it. He ran a hand through his hair and said, "The milk is spilt, Dustin. It's not so much your fault than my own."

"Yes, well, whatever. My point is: Chris wasn't there, he doesn't know how it... how it feels," Dustin repeated. "He doesn't blame you because he can be rather impartial when he wants to, but he doesn't think you two are good for each other. So even if Mark has been wanting to reconnect with you—" Dustin paused, pensive, before amending, "so even if, very hypothetically, Mark has been wanting to reconnect with you—"

Eduardo shook his head. "Dustin, listen—"

"No, Wardo, you listen to me," Dustin said. "Mark. He— that night— He needed you. In more ways than one. And he was scared shitless— I'm sure he realized that too, that he needed you. In more ways than one. Ugh, I'm repeating myself, but that's the whole truth."

Eduardo exhaled steadily. 

"So just," Dustin lowered his head. "Just. It'll help – okay? If you… here. I'm sure you could Google it easily, but here. Please." He took out a business card, his own, and wrote down an email address, and Eduardo didn't have to guess whose it was. 

Eduardo looked at Dustin, before the latter saluted him and said, amiably, "I'm really glad we met today. I think— it's nice to be able to talk about the old days. Anyways, I'm rooting for you both. Ten to one he'll respond within the hour."

 

 

Eduardo didn't eat that night. He spent it typing and backspacing an email, trying to make up his mind whether or not he even wanted to send one.

It was when he was showering that he thought, trembling, even though the water was steamy hot, that he should. He should.


	2. Chapter 2

To: MZ  
From: ES  
Subject: no subject

Hi. It's been a while.

\--

 

 

Eduardo had been getting ready to read the latest HBR issue in the dim lighting of his hotel room when his phone chirped. He glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand, a little alarmed. It hadn't been more than half an hour since he sent out the email.

 

To: ES  
From: MZ  
Subject: Re: no subject

Hi. 

Should I be worried?

 

\--

Eduardo scoffed, frowned, and then tried to come up with a reply, typing clumsily on his phone, fingers shaky.

To: MZ  
From: ES  
Subject: Re: Re: no subject

You think I'd only contact you if I were dying from a terminal disease or something?

\--

To: ES  
From: MZ  
Subject: Re: Re: Re no subject

"Or something". Why else? 

\--

Eduardo sighed loudly.

To: MZ  
From: ES  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: no subject

Long story short. I met Dustin the other day. It's been years, Mark. I think it's time the good memories outweigh the (really) bad ones. Was wondering if you would agree.

\--

To: ES  
From: MZ  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: no subject

It could be a working hypothesis. What are you suggesting?

\--

To: MZ  
From: ES  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: no subject

I thought it was obvious: that we should reconnect.

\--

To: ES  
From: MZ  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: no subject

Ok. 

How have you been?

\--

 

It was strange, interacting with Mark through emails. 

It made Eduardo think and take apart everything Mark said, made him attentive to each written syllable, to each unspoken word, to the way they resounded, the way they very prudently, almost timidly, treaded the waters between them.

He'd never listened to Mark this carefully before. 

 

To: ES  
From: MZ  
Subject: Re: new hobbies?

Ever heard of cardistry? It's therapeutic. I think you would like the mathematics behind the Faro shuffle. 

\--

To: MZ  
From: ES  
Subject: Re: Re: new hobbies?

I've done some research. I'm curious – can you really do 8 consecutive perfect out-shuffles? Consistently?

\--

To: ES  
From: MZ  
Subject: Re Re: Re: new hobbies?

Practice makes perfect.

\--

To: MZ  
From: ES  
Subject: Re: Re Re: Re: new hobbies?

Going to woo math aficionados with it?

\--

To: ES  
From: MZ  
Subject: Re: Re: Re Re: Re: new hobbies?

It's worth a try.

\--

What Eduardo liked about the email exchanges was that they were nothing like the conversations they used to have back in Harvard. Back in Kirkland, or at AEPi parties. Back in the hallways, back in the CS labs. 

They were nothing like them because this time Eduardo wasn't scared. Wasn't scared that Mark would go away.

Wasn't scared to break something that wasn't there. 

And, on the other hand, Mark wasn't so focused on something else, or someone else.

 

It was nice. Comfortable, and though they had to work around time zone differences, they were responding to each other all mutual waking hours, and Eduardo was suspecting, even some hours Mark was supposed to be asleep.

This went on for around a couple of months. Until finally, Eduardo had to fly back to the States to deal with taxes. Mark didn't hesitate to ask for a meet up, and Eduardo didn't see why he should decline.

On the flight, Eduardo fiddled with his sleeping phone, juggled it from hand to hand restlessly, more anxious than he thought he would be.

 

They met up in New York. Mark flew in from the other coast. Eduardo wondered how he explained it to Chris, wondered if Chris knew at all that they had been corresponding. When Mark arrived at Eduardo's hotel in a sweatshirt and jeans, flip-flops and _sunglasses_ and an LA Dodgers cap, Eduardo guessed maybe not.

"Hi," Mark said.

"Hi," Eduardo replied, dumbly, overdressed in his three-piece suit, as always.

 

 

When Eduardo heard the rain outside, tapping on the floor-to-ceiling windows of his room, he found himself suggesting, "we could just do the restaurant downstairs. Keep it easy. The decor's tacky, but the food isn't half bad, last I recall. There's a menu in the room." 

Mark had turned to look at Eduardo questionably, glanced at the weather outside but didn't say anything, only nodded, and picked up the menu, fingers looking gentle against its ornate cover. Eduardo looked away, sheepish.

He turned on the television because the silence was growing stiff, only to land, right off the bat, on a scene where Daniel Craig was slipping into a stunning swimming pool that glowed cyan against the backdrop of what looked like Shanghai.

Eduardo loosened his tie, and then flipped the channel, hoping Mark didn't notice.

 

Red booths, black walls, golden frames, white tablecloth, daguerreotype photographs. The blurb had described it as a swanky vision of Modern American cuisine, but all Eduardo could think about was how it was an outlandish setting for a low-key supper with Mark. 

They'd ordered, and got several ounces of aged sherry poured into their glasses, before they were left alone. 

Mark sipped and grimaced. "I never could get used to this stuff. Acquired taste my ass."

Eduardo scoffed. " _You're_ an acquired taste, Mark," he set his glass down. It was decidedly a little dry.

Mark sniffed. "I wouldn't trust anyone who is too easily likeable."

"Whatever helps you sleep, man," Eduardo replied, softly.

 

Mark took another sip, pensive. "What made you want to stick around me?" 

Eduardo tensed in his chair. He wasn't really sure – he couldn't even say for certain that he had in fact stuck around, considering he sued Mark. And they'd gone a few years without speaking, even signed a thing where they vowed to stay away from one another. But the question still stood, and Eduardo wondered: would he want to stick around the present Mark?

 

He thought about when he first met Mark. It was at that first AEPi party, god knew how many years ago. Mark had been standing next to a drape with the fraternity crest, somewhere near the exit doors. Strobe light reflections flitting across his face, dancing in his blue eyes. He had looked utterly bored, and Eduardo being Eduardo had thought he was going to help a poor soul feel a little more entertained.

Little did he know they'd be, all at once, so very compatible yet also, painfully incompatible. 

 

"I don't know," Eduardo said, gaze low. "You were different. Capricious. I kept wondering how you'd turn out. Or something."

Mark nodded. "I grew on you."

Eduardo exhaled. "Something to that effect."

 

 

Mark smiled briefly, "I thought you were ridiculous. But you grew on me too."

Eduardo let out a wry laugh. "Yeah right. You were only impressed after you learned I wasn't too shabby with algorithms and chess."

Mark shook his head. "That's just a bonus."

"I bet you found it sensual whenever I wrote complex equations for your extracurricular cyber projects," Eduardo teased, easily. In reality though, Mark's sex life was a mystery. Dustin had always suspected that Mark was sapiosexual. Eduardo thought maybe he was asexual.

Mark glared, but not all that vehemently. The scrutiny made Eduardo squirm in his seat a little. But then Mark smiled, shrugging. "Well, if that's your strategy for flirting, you should have flirted more."

Eduardo laughed, then smiled fondly. "Okay. I'll keep that in mind."

 

 

It was raining harder when they finished supper. Mark was looking out the window, distant, subdued. It made Eduardo's insides twist.

Mark had booked a room at another hotel – just a few blocks away.

"You could stay," Eduardo offered. "I can sleep on the couch." The room was big enough for two and the bathroom didn't have a bathtub. Not that he planned that out in advance. Not that he was going to point that out to Mark. 

Mark looked at him, frowning. "I—"

"—only if you want to. I mean –the rain— it's bothersome. Isn't it? Tomorrow it'll be sunny," Eduardo said, pointing at the weather module at the side of the television screen. Sunny skies, a decent high. A good day to fly.

Mark shook his head. "No. I— it's all right. You're jetlagged and worn. The couch, as opposed to the bed, should be your natural enemy," he took out his phone and started texting – likely to some kind of regular chauffeur he employed when he was in New York. Eduardo lowered his head, unsure what to say, unsure how to interpret what Mark had just said. 

Eduardo enjoyed the evening more than he thought. It was strange the way he found every little gesture Mark made familiar and calming even though… it was all very different too. And every word he said and even the cadence of his speech gave Eduardo the impression that he would never stop missing these things. These good things about Mark.

 

 

A sorrowful jazz piece played in the lobby. It was near midnight, there was laughter at the bar, but the entrance hall was dimly lit and mostly empty. 

"Thanks," Mark said sincerely when they were out of the revolving doors. He took a step backwards into the rain, away from shelter, without an umbrella, just the cotton hood of his grey sweatshirt. 

A rush overcame Eduardo. At that exact moment, at that exact snapshot of Mark looking at him openly – one step closer to being two steps further – Eduardo was thrown back to the memory of him and his mom, standing in a sunny kitchen, in São Paulo. Her floral apron wrinkled as she bent down and explained, soft loving whispers in Brazilian Portuguese, what _saudade_ meant. 

"I'm not sure what you're thanking me for," Eduardo replied, belatedly, breathing a little hard, vision shaky. But Mark had already turned on his heel and scurried to the black car that was waiting for him, not really looking back.

 

Chris had been angry, but not furious. He mostly had issues with the fact that Mark had skipped work, flown out of town, and told absolutely no one. 

_It's like being scolded for skipping high school classes_ , Mark had written.

 _You couldn't afford business class plane tickets when you were in high school_ , Eduardo wrote back.

_I could have, I just chose not to._

Eduardo let out a chuckle in his bed, next to windows that had a view on a Singaporean evening.

 

Eduardo had been afraid that their emails would become awkward after the first meeting, but somehow it was still as easy as it was before; he should have known that the way to Mark's heart was through a screen. Maybe he would have made it further with him, had he known, back in Harvard.

Eduardo laughed at himself at that realization. What a ridiculous thought. 

_The way to Mark's fucking heart. Who was he kidding?_

 

To: ES  
From: MZ  
Subject: When can we meet again?

I don't mind flying out just for tea.

\--

To: MZ  
From: ES  
Subject: Re: When can we meet again?

Are you sure it's not a little out of your way?

 

\--

To: ES  
From: MZ  
Subject: Re: Re: When can we meet again?

Maybe I'll cry if you invite me over solely for tea.

Just maybe.

\--

 

Eduardo didn't invite him to Singapore. It wasn't feasible even though there were three direct flights daily going from San Fran to Singapore. It wasn't feasible because it would be too meaningful (and Eduardo needed to sort his feelings about it) if Mark made the trip. 

They decided on a midpoint: Paris. Eduardo needed to close a deal with a logistics startup there, and Mark told Chris he was visiting a French cousin once removed he didn't have.

They supped, walked in narrow streets filled with Japanese signs and Chinese characters, fifteen minutes northeast from the Louvre, give or take. There were puddles underneath their feet, dark clouds overhead, and Eduardo thought, _why does this work for me?_

Because he should be the last person to forgive Mark, and Mark should be the last to care about Eduardo. Just because things were so distant in the past, just because things blurred (memories of depositions intertwining with moments in Harvard, and moments in and out cities neither of them ever got used to), shouldn't mean that everything was all right now.

But it felt so good. 

And Eduardo never knew it could actually feel this right, walking with Mark next to the Seine, in a crowd of faceless tourists, cathedral backdrop, accordion music in the air.

 

They were at a bench facing the Notre-Dame de Paris, each holding overpriced ice cream they'd gotten from a street truck. 

_Mark stabbed him in his back_ , Eduardo kept reminding himself. But the way Mark looked at him now as he took a bite from his cone (thankfully in a rather clinical way) made Eduardo's heart skip a beat. His eyes were soft blue, his expression leaned towards genuine enjoyment, his smile dimpling, endearing.

Eduardo never learned his lesson. He was still too much of a forgiving person, wasn't he?

He smiled back, and somewhere in his chest his heart would feel a little lighter, a little better.

 

 

"Have you ever been away from a screen this long?" Eduardo asked.

"I don't think so," Mark said, looking down at the porch of the shop. They were taking shelter in a quaint secondhand bookstore, waiting for the rain to pass. 

The musky scent that came off the books somehow reminded Eduardo of what it smelled like back at Widener Library, back when he was waiting there for Mark to finish at the CS labs next door.

"I don't understand how you haven't already coded just about everything that can be coded in this world," Eduardo said.

"To be fair, I'm likely closest to it."

"Doesn't life beyond a screen mean anything to you?"

Mark stayed silent for a bit, mulling over the question. Then, shrugging, he said, "well, sometimes I feel like I've already lost a big part of it." 

Eduardo bit on his lower lip, and silence reigned again for a while. "Are we— are we attempting to salvage it?" he asked, finally.

Mark turned to look at Eduardo. He looked… lost. "I don't know. I'm still trying to figure out— I. Sometimes I feel like at any moment this would—" he cut himself short, but Eduardo could hear what he was going to say.

 _Like at any moment this would all fall apart_. 

Eduardo reached tentatively and wrapped his arm around Mark's other shoulder and gave him a friendly squeeze, a fond look. Mark was startled, at first, but soon his gaze turned into a questioning one, and then a beat later, a quiet one.

They stayed like that for a while. Eduardo could smell Mark's shampoo and that made his heart thump louder and louder in his ears. He tried to ignore it. Tried to focus on something else, tried to think of a change of topic. But nothing came up.

Mark didn't break his gaze as he carefully slid an arm around Eduardo's back. It seemed like a friendly reciprocation, but somehow it also posed the question, _what are we doing?_. 

The answer was there, at the tip of Eduardo's tongue, but he held back. Was he even ready to admit it to himself? He bit his lower lip, lowered his gaze to Mark's lips, flicked up to his eyes again, and then panicked internally because Mark now looked _expectant_.

But before Eduardo could say or do anything, he noticed that the patter of rain had faded, and he turned his gaze back to the streets almost mechanically, trying to see whether there were ripples in the puddles. 

He felt empty when Mark retracted his arm and slowly slid out of Eduardo's grip.

When he turned to look at Mark again, Mark had stepped out, extending his hand to feel for the rain. 

 

 

 

Eduardo wished he didn't feel that swell of feelings whenever the back of Mark's hand brushed against his. He wished the world didn't stop whenever Mark looked right at him, listening to his every word. Wished there weren't goosebumps on the back of his arm whenever Mark called him Wardo.

Wished he wasn't still in love with Mark.

 

 

The turbulence on the flight back had made Eduardo felt like he was tumbling in water, and he threw up in a bag, eyes closed, breathing hard.

 _What's wrong with him_ he kept asking himself over and over on the cab ride home. It wasn't raining outside, just cloudy, but there was a prickling sensation on his skin that he couldn't scratch off. And he kept having visions of rain and Mark and rain and Mark again. 

And how he should have kissed Mark then and there, at that bookstore. Rain or no rain. Hell or high water. 

 

 

Mark had a conference at a prestigious university in Beijing planned for fall. He said he was going to be busy in the months preceding it. He was going to juggle between acquiring WhatsApp and practicing Mandarin, amongst other things that needed his immediate attention – and Eduardo knew how to take a hint. 

It was lonely without Mark's emails, but it gave them both some time to breathe. And in Eduardo's case, too much time to think.

Eduardo had started scavenging for inconspicuous bars in Singapore, found a favorite on Hong Kong street. Nights passed and he became a regular. Days passed and he started getting bored and restless, started thinking about too many things. About Mark, about pools and unspoken apologies. About what it would feel like if he could hold Mark's hand and press his forehead against his and then lean in to kiss him. 

During the next months, he'd written plenty of emails that he never sent out. In a handful of them, he tried to come off as nonchalant and cold, so that he wouldn't show how lonely he was feeling, in others he was trying to confess. 

The drafts piled up in his mail app, and on the day Mark's conference was supposed to happen, he looked at them wearily and thought, exasperated, _god, I hope one day I will look behind and find these and think they're mighty hilarious or something_. 

To his surprise though, two days later, he received an email from Mark.

To: ES  
From: MZ  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: THU Conference 

Wardo – I was wondering, would it be inconvenient if I flew over to Singapore after the conference? 

\--

Eduardo closed his eyes and wondered if maybe he had thought about Mark too hard. He deleted all of his drafts with a sweep, then took a few hours to freshen up before settling down to answer.


	3. Chapter 3

Eduardo had a strange sense of déjà-vu. He was in his car, looking out through the passenger window, waiting for Mark to appear through the glass doors of the airport. 

It was a rainy day.

Of course, the roles were reversed, but it didn't feel less uncanny. 

He waited an hour, drove in circles around the airport so he didn't need to pay for parking, before Mark came out. He was wearing just a t-shirt and shorts, much like he had, that fateful night back in Palo Alto. Eduardo leaned over and opened the passenger door.

"Sorry," Mark said, climbing in. "The customs line was long." A single stream of rainwater flowed down his left cheek. Eduardo swallowed hard.

"It's fine," he replied mechanically, before realizing, that an apology had just come out of Mark's mouth. He eyed Mark for a moment, watched him buckle his seat belt, until Mark looked up at him, a little surprised to find him watching. 

A honk from behind broke the silence, and Eduardo looked back and signaled an apology before promptly driving them out.

 

Mark was rather quiet throughout the whole ride.

"How did the conference go?" Eduardo asked.

"They worship me. It's an odd feeling," Mark replied. "They can't even access Facebook, or Google me."

Eduardo smiled briefly. "Maybe you inspire them in other ways. How did you like the city?"

"Smoggy and dry. It doesn't rain much there," Mark said.

Eduardo waited, but Mark didn't add anything else. "I hope you've got more to say about it than just its lack of precipitation," he said.

Mark kept mum for a while before, saying, finally, "it's so dry you get static shock touching nothing."

Eduardo nodded, didn't push it further.

 

 

"You don't like rain," Mark remarked when they got to Eduardo's apartment. Eduardo turned to look at Mark, and for a split second, couldn't gather his thoughts. 

It seemed Mark had done some thinking during the past months. Eduardo looked away momentarily. 

"It's--," Eduardo started, nervous, "It's bad weather condition for leather shoes. I like my leather shoes."

Mark looked down as Eduardo toed his not-leather shoes off.

 

 

"I don't like bathtubs," Mark admitted, out of the blue, when they were on the way back from supper outside. Eduardo was caught by surprise - he almost swerved out of the lane.

"Pardon?" he said, swallowing hard, eyes dilating. Mark looked back at him with an inscrutable expression.

"I also don't like stepping on tiles. Barefoot," Mark said, and Eduardo held his breath, wanted to close his eyes, but he was driving and that wouldn't be recommended, so he squinted instead, focusing on the horizon. 

Mark continued, voice quieter yet tenser as he spoke. "I don't mind the rain as much. But when a bus passes and splashes water on me I get violent shakes. I don't like water on my face either, so I turn away from the water when I shower. I obviously don't go anywhere near pools if I can help it. There was a period of time the smell of it alone could make me throw up."

Eduardo trembled. "Mark, just. I think it's better if we talked about this when we get to your hotel room. I'm afraid I might drive off the bridge."

Mark looked out the window, expressionless, at the waters under the bridge. 

"That would be ironic," he said, finally, before they plunged back into silence.

 

The ride up the elevator had been tense, to say the least, and by the time they had reached Mark's room, Eduardo felt like his knees were going to give in. 

"We're going to talk about it," Eduardo said, almost like a question. Mark nodded. He took off his shoes, started the kettle and then sat down on an armchair.

Eduardo took a deep breath. There was a long silence before he lowered his head and decided to be the first to break it. 

"That night. I'm— sorry," Eduardo said, hoarsely. He hadn't known he could feel this… broken, saying four words.

Mark shrugged, slowly, like he wanted to buy some time to think about what to say. "You weren't the one at fault, Wardo."

Eduardo smiled sadly. The nickname rolled out of Mark's mouth nicely. Warm and familiar. 

"I didn't bring it up because I wanted you to apologize," Mark continued. "I brought it up so we could resolve it. Potentially. Finally."

"Okay," Eduardo said softly, after a beat.

 

"I didn't want you to get left behind," Mark stated. "You have to understand that."

"You didn't come pick me up at the airport," Eduardo pointed out, though not as bitterly as it should have sounded. "And I called you and you didn't pick your cell. Felt a lot like I was being left behind."

"I lost track of time. Things were going fast, I didn't know what day it was, I couldn't even remember to sleep, let alone—"

"I stand corrected. I _was_ already left behind."

Mark studied Eduardo carefully. "You only had to come out. That would have made the biggest difference, Wardo."

"So it's all on me."

Mark shook his head. "No. Or, maybe, yes. Maybe things would have been very different. Maybe we would have been glued by the hip and lived life together forever and you would have never moved to the other side of the planet. But that's not the point."

"Yes, I never came out and there's no way we can change that, and frankly, I think maybe I would have never been able to. Not with Sean in the picture."

"Without Sean in the picture we would have never gotten the angel investment."

Eduardo wasn't sure who the 'we' referred to at all, but ignored the urge to ask.

"Because surely I couldn't ever rake in enough money."

"You wanted to generate money from ads when the site was still a fetus. Honestly, it's like trying to milk a baby."

Eduardo grimaced at the analogy. "Right. And I was the unreasonable parent. Who pushed the other parent into a pool, and caused both to develop some form of aquaphobia."

Mark looked away and Eduardo did the same. They stayed quiet for a while.

 

 

"I think you didn't hear me, but I told you I needed you right before you pushed me," Mark said. 

"The two times I remember you saying you needed me, it was for me to do something completely immature or stupid, for you. One, an algorithm to mock girls, two, a death certificate to dilute my shares."

Mark looked like he was mildly surprised Eduardo still remembered Facemash. "I said it way more than just two times."

Eduardo sighed. "Did you even mean them?"

"Mean them? Yes, I did. Of course I meant them."

"Could you say it now, still?"

Mark looked at Eduardo, his eyes a blue Eduardo had never thought looked so… melancholic. "I needed you."

Eduardo's heart sank, but he kept firm, held up straight, pointed out the obvious. "Past tense? You don't need me anymore?"

Mark shook his head, gaze fixed on some point below Eduardo's knees. "It's different, now."

Eduardo laughed gently, into the back of his hand. Of course, things were different. They were on the other side of the world, looking at water under bridge and trying to make sense of feelings that should have long drifted.

He sat back, sank in his seat.

Why did it feel like his heart had just been broken a second time?

 

 

There was more bickering over the same things they had bickered years ago, but they weren't really at each other's throats. Perhaps it was because there was no real anger behind their words. Only a sort of desperation, a sad kind of eagerness to find a compromise in a situation where there was no realistic midpoint.

They left it at that since it was late, and Eduardo returned home, or whatever the place was to him. He had taken a few seconds to get the door to open; his hands were shaky, and the key wouldn't click, and there was a tightness in his chest that made breathing a little difficult, eyesight a little blurry. It took a while before he realized that an elder neighbor was eyeing him worriedly, and he said, quickly, _paiseh. I'm okay, really, good night_.

When he walked into his apartment he went straight to the bathroom to wash his hands, force of habit. But the second he stepped onto the marble tile, he froze up. He blinked at it, blanked out, felt the blood leave his face. 

He decided to skip shower and crash on the rug.

Simply because he could.

He didn't sleep all that well. 

In a dream, he was in a restaurant, stood in front of a wide aquarium, rose-golden fish and cerulean water, placed at the center of the hall. 

Approaching it, he reached out and touched the pane, letting his fingers slide. He saw a figure behind the bubbles, and soon recognized it as Mark. Mark was standing on the other side of the aquarium, mirroring him with longing eyes.

The background noise of the busy restaurant distorted, transitioned to static. 

And the static grew louder, a crescendo that kept going until it started ringing in Eduardo's ears, so loud it hurt.

And Mark mouthed, _I need you_ , and it juxtaposed with that infinitesimal moment where Mark had mouthed the same, right before Eduardo pushed him into a pool the colour of Palo Alto rain.

 

And when Mark hit the surface of the water, a ding sounded.

Eduardo turned around. Someone had rung a call bell from the kitchen counter.

And all noise stopped.

The aquarium burst behind him.

The backdrop fell apart.

 

 

Eduardo woke up with a jolt. 

He was disoriented at first. His back hurt, his feet were cold, his cheek had the same pattern as the rug under his palms. He pushed himself up and tried getting onto the sofa, only to notice that his phone, discarded to his left, lit up with notifications. 

He had received, amongst others, a text message from Mark's temporary SIM card. It said, _meet me at my hotel, fifty-seventh floor_. Mark hadn't mentioned a time, but it was timestamped 5:35AM. An hour ago.

 

Eduardo frowned, but didn't question it, like he was still in a dream, and, assuming he'd figure it out once he got there, stood up and rinsed his mouth in the kitchen sink before grabbing his keys and hitting the road.

Nothing really deterred him on his way. Not even the drizzle on his windshield or the drive through the bridge where Mark had looked out, calm and grounded, saying, _that would be ironic_. 

It wasn't until he parked his car in the B1 basement of the Crowne Plaza hotel, and passed a panoramic ad panel, showcasing a view from the 57th floor – the rooftop floor – that he realized that he was actually extremely scared.

Even more so when he realized what was in fact on the fifty-seventh floor.

 

He felt faint on his feet. They grew heavier with each step he took. He'd never been scared of heights, but he certainly felt like it when he came out of the elevators, nerves in a frenzy, stomach in a twist, his mind disoriented beyond help.

It was barely seven-thirty in the morning, on a Saturday, and there was drizzle. No one in their right mind would be on the rooftop – let alone at the rooftop _swimming pool_.

 

Only Mark stood there, a lonesome figure, in a t-shirt, his fuck-you flip-flops, with nothing to protect him from the rain. He was looking out at the view, only turning his head slightly to acknowledge Eduardo's presence when Eduardo was only a few feet away from him. They stood quietly for a while, at the edge of the stairs that led into water.

The swimming pool was designed like the shore of a beach, long and narrow, elegantly arched inwards, lined with skinny palm trees and minimalistic sun beds on one side. On the other side was an invisible ledge, and a majestic range of skyscrapers, sleeping in on a quiet Saturday morning.

It was breathtaking. Eduardo could say that. 

It was nothing like the dingy pool back in Palo Alto. 

"Morning," Mark murmured.

Eduardo looked at him, smiled briefly, shoved his hands into his pockets. They stood around for a bit more, before he said, softly, "Mark. W— What are you— why are we here? It's barely eight in the morning."

Mark bit his lower lip, then, shaking his head lightly, said, "you missed sunrise."

 

Eduardo was a little lightheaded from the smell of rain and chlorine, so he sat down on one of the lounge chairs. Not sure what to make of the situation.

"Is this… a reconstruction of that night? Is this what it's about?" Eduardo asked.

Mark turned around. "This is nothing like that night. A night here costs an arm and a leg."

Eduardo scoffed, lying back, slowly, shifting his pressure away from his backache. "That one night in Palo Alto cost a heart and a friend."

Mark smiled sadly, eyebrows knitting. "Point taken."

 

"So what are we here for?" Eduardo asked.

Mark looked out into the horizon. "We need to get this out of the way."

"Get what out of the way?"

Mark turned his gaze at Eduardo. His expression was mostly blank, but if Eduardo squinted, he could see a hint of sadness. "Palo Alto," he murmured over the drizzle. "Everything."

Eduardo raked his fingers through his damp hair. "I don't even care," he said, shrugging, fidgeting, finding it harder and harder to calm down. "I mean. What's done is done. Mark, there's nothing much we can talk about. We tried yesterday— and neither of us conceded, neither of us won. And things are different now. Aren't they? Let's just. Not talk about it. Or, if it makes a difference, then let's say, I was wrong, ads wouldn't have worked out. And I should have come out to California at your beck and call. I shouldn't have been dead jealous of Sean, I shouldn't have pushed you into a pool, and I shouldn't have frozen anyone's bank account, especially not my own. Then, maybe you wouldn't have had to make the childish decision to kick me out of the company we cofounded together as best fucking friends—" Eduardo pinched the skin between his eyes and exhaled, realizing that the anger he had suppressed for years was coming back, bursting at the seams. "Fuck. _Shit_. Fuck. _Fuck_."

Mark's eyes were intensely blue. It made Eduardo feel _sick_ instantly, because in the same instance he was growing angrier about the whole situation, he was thinking _fuck why are they so beautiful why am I in love with him why can't I just kiss him why can't I just have this_ , and it was jarring, and it fucking _hurt_. 

Suddenly the rain fell in bigger drops, and Eduardo had to step back, under a parasol. He rubbed the rainwater from his face with rough swipes, utterly disgusted, thoroughly frazzled.

 

Mark didn't blink when he said, "I was wrong because I hurt you. And I'm sorry."

Eduardo laughed coldly, letting a moment pass between them before saying, "I don't believe you actually know even the half of it." 

"I don't," Mark said. Not offering much else.

"Forget it. It's all on me," Eduardo said, defeatedly, irately.

"It's not."

"It's always been my own fault. You said it yourself. I made a bad business deal with my own company. As the CFO," he paused, "You know I can't even sign anything without a team of lawyers now? It's pathetic."

"You can't stand the rain," Mark said, almost a non sequitur, though they both knew it wasn't.

"No one does. It's designed to ruin perfectly good days, at least, most of the time—not everyone is Gene Kelly, no one is Gene Kelly—" Eduardo wasn't making any sense. He who used to love meteorology. He who used to spend pocket money on meteorology books.

"I like the rain," Mark said quietly. And then even quieter, "it reminds me of you."

Eduardo bit down on his lip and closed his eyes. "Don't say things like that."

"I want to like it more," Mark said. "Summer showers can be nice," he added. 

Summer showers in Palo Alto. 

 

Eduardo's chest started to hurt. He really didn't want to talk about it anymore. "You're going to catch a cold, Mark."

Mark looked sorry. He said, "it'll be on me."

 

 

They stayed like that for a bit. Watching the rain. Mark had come to sit on the lounge chair next to Eduardo's. 

He didn't look away from the pool the entire time. And then suddenly, said, "maybe we need to trace back the steps." 

Mark stood up, walked until he was two feet away from the edge, and then turned back. Their eyes connected. "We were here." 

There was something like surrender in his figure, the penumbra of anguish in his expression. 

Eduardo shook his head once, and then a second time. "No, Mark, we don't need to do that. That's silly."

"You asked me, _what do you mean get left behind_. Three times," Mark continued, leaning closer to the pool, leaning into a danger zone, and Eduardo was on his feet, the lurch sending spikes to his chest. Mark flinched at the movement, but he didn't break his gaze from Eduardo, didn't stop the narration either. "And I said I need you. I don't know why I wasn't answering your question, but I was saying I need you. And then you—" Mark gently turned his gaze at the pool.

Eduardo was breathing a little harder, and he choked on rain first before he could say, "A-and then I pushed you. Which I'm not going to do— Mark, let's just go back to your room. This is a little melodramatic. Let's just go."

Mark shook his head, stubborn. "I have dreams about this. Maybe I'm still dreaming," he walked to the submerged steps, "it'll be fine, Wardo, even if you don't trust me." He looked back at Eduardo with eyes that said _but I do want you to trust me_.

 

"It's the jetlag, the rain, it does that to you. I would know," Eduardo shouted. The water was up to Mark's knees, then thighs, waist. Chest, neck, chin. Mark looked back.

"And then you joined me," Mark said as he waded further, turning, stepping backwards, blue eyes fixed on Eduardo.

 

 

Eduardo seized up. He felt a tightness in his jaw and forehead, a throbbing at his temples, His neck went stiff, his throat constricted, his breath went shorter and shorter.

 

 

Sensations of drowning.

 

 

It was fucked. He was scared shitless but he wanted so bad to go into the water, to find Mark's warmth despite the coldness of his phobia. 

Mark's gaze was alluring, enticing him like a siren would a sailor.

But it was also vulnerable, _pleading_ – pleading for him to just give it a chance.

(Mark really wanted to figure this out.) 

 

Eduardo wanted it too.

Finish the story the way it should have. 

Replay and change its ending. 

Dive and save Mark, dive and save himself.

 

 

"D-different," Mark said, trembling, light dancing on his face as the water rippled. "I-I need you in a different way now. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I've done to you."

 

 

This time, Eduardo heard it, _felt it_. He ran his fingers through his hair, then took a few steps forward. 

Took off his shoes, socks, pants. 

He exhaled unsteadily when he broke through the surface.

The water was ice to his skin, but he held his breath, took a moment or two, tried imagining it warm and welcoming, instead.

 

He let out a single wry laugh, it sounded choked. But he took another step. And then another. When he was about an arm's length away from Mark, he stopped. 

 

This was definitely the worst idea Mark had ever come up with. The water was up to Eduardo's neck, holding him like a choker would, with its spikes directed inwards. He was so going to get a heart attack, he thought, breath accelerating. He coughed once, twice. Closed his eyes, only for the sensation of the crisp water to feel colder against his skin. 

But just when he felt like he was about to implode, Mark reached out and grabbed Eduardo's hand, threading their fingers together.

Eduardo scoffed, actually didn't want to feel better at all, didn't want this to be the remedy, the clarity to this whole fucking ordeal. 

 

But it was.

 

Of course it was.

He felt better. 

Almost safe.

 

"Fuck," Eduardo rasped, frowning, totally defeated, "who would have thought you'd be this quixotic."

Mark smiled, his dimples showing, staying. "It's a lazy Saturday morning, we're in a five-star hotel rooftop pool in Singapore, hanging. It's still quite earthly, Wardo. Nothing quixotic. Still quite commonplace." He took a step closer. 

"No way in hell you are sane," Eduardo said, an almost inaudible tremble to the last syllable.

"I'm fine with that. Only the insane can come up with innovative things." 

Another step, and their legs tangled gently.

"You mean Facebook?"

"Well, I was thinking along the lines of 'courting your ex-best friend in a state-of-the-art pool on a rainy day in a foreign land' but yes Facebook was also quite the game changer."

Eduardo was grinning. "Courting?"

Mark blinked rain out of his eyes but was smiling back. "You're right. Too medieval. We need to come up with the next neologism. It's 2014."

Eduardo slowly wrapped his arms around Mark's neck, bringing himself dangerously closer. Their breaths mingled. The raindrops on their skin reflected the waking world. The sun was just behind the clouds. Eduardo reached out, pushed a strand of hair away from Mark's forehead. Mark held his breath, closed his eyes.

 

"Charting waters," Mark whispered. Quietly, because they were close enough to tell secrets. 

Eduardo nodded. Nodded enthusiastically. "It's 2014 and you'll compare confessions to charting waters."

Mark shrugged petulantly. "My major was psychology and computer science. Not Maritime studies. Oh- and I never graduated."

Eduardo smirked, looked at Mark defiantly, and then leaned in, tentative, leaving an inch or two, remembered to breathe, remembered to close his eyes, and then firmly _finally_ kissed Mark on the lips. 

Water moved around them as Mark wrapped his arms around Eduardo's waist, bringing him closer, kissing back with more and more fervor. At one point the kisses turned open mouthed, as if they were trying to gasp for each other's breaths, smothering the whispers of each other's names.

It felt right. A little too wet to Eduardo's liking, what with the pool and the rain, but it also felt quite right.

Mark's warmth brought back good memories. A bit of the bad ones as well, but only because those were a part of _them_ too. A part of their history together. Important pieces that culminated into whatever the fuck they were today.

 

Memories of them taking shelter from the rain at a bookshop in Paris. Of them sharing drinks at the Thirsty Scholar. Of them sitting with frowning old lawyers at the depositions. Of them and the chicken in the cage and that article in the Crimson. Of them and the 'u dick' note that fell out of Mark's pocket when Eduardo was gathering his clothes to throw into the wash.

Of Mark standing at the AEPi party looking bored. Mark standing at the counter telling the lady he didn't want a bathtub. Mark telling Eduardo he was sorry. Mark telling Eduardo he needed him.

Mark praying when he just launched Thefacebook from a dorm room back at Harvard, 2004.

Mark looking at Eduardo from across the room, a room filled with future interns and cheap alcohol and the sound of fingers dancing across keyboards. 

Mark smiling and Eduardo smiling back too.

 

Mark making Eduardo understand what _saudade_ meant.

 

Mark.   
Mark.   
Mark.

 

Mark tasting of rain and chlorine and something sweet. Licorice? Ichor? Something better.

 

 

Of a promising future, Eduardo thought, later on in the day, lying in Mark's hotel bed, playing with Mark's curls, drifting to sleep.

Dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading,... #reviveTSN2k19. 
> 
> *   
>  **saudade** : Portuguese term expressing "a deep feeling of longing, melancholy, or nostalgia". Also described as "the love that remains after someone is gone".    
> 
> *   
>  **paiseh** : Singlish term expressing "a sense of feeling embarassed in a most discreet way".    
> 
> *   
>  all of the hotels, places, and restaurants described in the fic are based off of the real... hotels, places and restaurants.   
> 
>   
> 
> *   
>  lots of bits in chapter 1 are from the actual TSN movie script itself.   
> 
> *   
>  [Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MtBzp_-h0oQ)'s a video explaining 'some' mathematics behind the Faro shuffle. There's honestly more to it, if I remember correctly, but that's what Eduardo was referring to more than the other parts.   
> 


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